


Musings

by Fastforwardmotion



Series: Aisa Stormshield [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fastforwardmotion/pseuds/Fastforwardmotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aisa reflects on the events of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings

Aisa thumbed a small wooden token, absentmindedly drawing it in tight circles on her palm. The events of the day had frayed at the loose bonds of their patchwork party, and they had left the camp tense, to say the least. Aisa wondered briefly how long it would take for the group to settle into some semblance of normalcy. She sighed softly, and pressed her back against the coarse surface of a nearby rock, pausing to scan the camp.

Melahar was—well he was doing… something. Meditating perhaps, or praying. She could make out his silhouette a short distance from dwindling fire. Maybe his Pelor had some valuable information to share, though she sincerely doubted it. 

Artius was still simmering in his rage. There was something different about him, just below the surface that didn’t sit right with her. But she let it slide, instead following the Minotaur’s heated gaze to the crouching form across camp. 

Aisa’s eyes lingered on Xavros. He’d changed over the last five years. Aisa had seen it in their monthly briefings. Every month she’d watched him over the brim of her ale, seen the subtle shift in his demeanor. A slight hardening behind the eyes, a new determination she couldn’t quite place. It was a gradual change, but it was change nonetheless. The man sending conflicted glances into the fire now, was not the Xavros she’d aided through The Temple. 

But then, she too had changed. Five years ago, with the same revelation, she might have shouted, thrown a few punches. Today she merely watched. Watched as Artius’ eyes flared red with rage, watched Malahar’s brows furrow in confusion, in betrayal. She’d (relatively) calmly rebutted Xavros when he had the gall to suggest she would “throw him under the bus.” Perhaps Galeniel had a larger impact on her than she’d anticipated. Aisa grimaced slightly at the thought. Kord’s mercy. 

No. She would not throw him under the bus. Not now, with so much riding on their shoulders. Aisa had seen first-hand the damage that Jaraxxys left in his wake. She’d seen his demon army. The massive force whose numbers were unequaled on this plain.

She sighed again, eyes shifting to study the wooden token in her palm. It was rounded, smooth from years of distracted rubbing. The inscription along its circumference read “AHBÂK NI AMRÂD.” Freedom in Death. Aisa had carved it from the tree she’d shredded on the eve of Leonas’ passing. She carried it as a reminder, of those she’d killed, of friends she’d lost because of her own stupidity. A reminder that one day she too would meet a similar fate. 

She tucked the token into a pocket and hazarded another glance at Xavros. The half-elf had begun rocking gently, sending shadows dancing across the camp, hands matted tightly in his hair. 

Xavros was an ally. He was an ally, but she would not forget that he was also incredibly adept at deceit. How long had she traveled by his side, unware that he carried a device that could literally render her powerless? He had told her about it, eventually, but he still possessed the device, a fact that did not escape her notice. 

How long, then, was he planning to wait before telling them about this little omission? Oh, she did not doubt that he would have informed them eventually, when it suited him, or perhaps when he’d entangled himself too deeply with the chaotic god, but it wasn’t enough. Alliances like theirs were built on trust, and it seemed no matter how much confidence she tried to place in the rogue, there was always something he conveniently held back. 

His attitude, too, was a worrying development. Aisa didn’t trust Drik, not for a second. By the gods, she hadn’t trusted him for almost the entirety of their relationship, but his conversation with Xavros held some interesting revelations. In the heat of their discussion, Xavros has let his mask slip, if only a little. An unsettling confidence enveloped his words. She hadn’t missed the implication that the Sword was his right, as if he alone passed through the trials of the Spirits. Nor did she miss the self-assured words that marked him the unsung savior of the realm. Xavros Moonshadow, hero of the people. 

Aisa heaved a final sigh, shifted her weight to stand, and slipped wordlessly into her tent. As she drifted into a meditative sleep, she made a final resolution. She would trust that he knew how to control his newfound power. But if he couldn’t, if Xavros gave any indication of turning on them, of jeopardizing their mission, she would not hesitate to slip an axe between his ribs. She’d killed friends before, this time would be no different. 

No. It would not be different.

**Author's Note:**

> ((Aisa’s a liar, she would definitely hesitate to kill Xavros. And agonize about his death forever. But whatever helps her sleep at night))
> 
> ((Also, I realize that our PCs probably don’t know what a bus is, but that’s what John said to me, so we’re going to pretend that “bus” is some sort of large menacing creature in D&D. Yes...))


End file.
